


He is Hungry

by HazelRiver



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Eventual Porn, Eventual Smut, Hannibal denies himself, Hannibal is an asshole surprise, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Post Fall, Post Season 3, This will lead to porn eventually, WIll going after what he wants, What happens if Hannibal closes himself off, Will finally wants what he wants, Will is a confused puppy, kind of funny?, thin plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelRiver/pseuds/HazelRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season 3 and six months after the fall, Hannibal and Will have moved away to the South of France. A look into the first time Will presents himself to Hannibal's bed and how they got to their new home. My first story for this fandom, I'm hoping for this to turn into a series that looks into how many times it takes Will to present himself to Hannibal for Hannibal concedes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ilafaim

The first time Will went to Hannibal’s bed there was no deciding factor that tightened his fingers around the knob. One moment he was barely clothed outside of Hannibal Lecter’s bedroom, the next moment he was barely clothed inside Hannibal Lecter’s bedroom. Will wore nothing but his grey briefs, pajama shorts and shirts were unreasonable in the south of France in July…and he wanted his intentions to be clear. Torturing himself over the fact that his intentions would be made clear, unmistakably clear, Will had stood in front of the large cherry wood door for an immeasurable amount of time. It could have been a few drowning minutes or rushing hours, time hadn’t been Will’s strong suit for quite some time. The doctor was already in bed with the blankets crisply tucked across his waist, chest bare and rhythmically rising as his eyes perused the open book in front of him.

  
Will wasn’t sure if it was he who allowed himself a moment to adjust or if it was Hannibal who allowed Will the moment to adjust, though he had an inkling that it was the latter. Seconds did not tick by nor did they drag, instead they stretched outward and fell thick like molasses. Eventually Hannibal peeled off his reading glasses before taking in Will’s bare figure. Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind he wondered if Hannibal could see the goosebumps that rose across his skin and prickled sharp behind his eyes at the feeling of Hannibal’s intense gaze. The glasses and book were placed upon the bedside table and Will struggled not to shift from foot to foot, he wasn’t sure if he succeeded and the swaying was his own vision or if he was truly rocking back and forth in anticipation of Hannibal’s approval.

  
It had been a long six months since the cliff, the dragon, everything else. From boat to boat they travelled until Hannibal smuggled them both to the house of an old friend who was tiringly handsome and whose eyes never steered far from Hannibal’s figure. It was that handsome man, Charlie (“please, never Charles”) who insisted they have their own guest bedrooms (Will spent the night decidedly not sleeping and straining his ears for any sounds of life coming from Hannibal’s room, he heard none) before granting them passports the next morning over Hannibal’s fresh French toast. Cool light poured in over breakfast where Will spent the first few minutes wondering if it was possible to be able to count the rings under your own eyes, trying to ignore the fact that Hannibal wore a white apron over his red sweater and that Charlie didn’t wear a shirt at all and spent the morning slowly sucking at strawberries. Will wasn’t hungry much, he also didn’t feel that it had been too long since he saw Hannibal in an apron and he certainly had not missed the sight, not even a little bit…at all.

  
“Doctor Henry Ilafaim and Wesley Ilafaim.” Hannibal’s eyes were mischievous as he made a show of kissing his friend on the cheek before handing the passports to Will. Will stared at the folded papers in front of him, his own blank gaze met his sleepy stare.

  
“Henry Ilafaim—comprenez vous?” Charlie was smug at his own joke, a joke that Hannibal explained with that annoyingly present twinkle in his eye.

  
“Ilafaim: Il a faim…He is hungry, in French. Charlie, you’ll give us a way.” Hannibal was not lecturing, he was pleased with the pun. While Charlie laughed and denied that fact (“Hannibal, I don’t believe you could ever be caught—no matter how bad any man tries to catch you.”) Will felt his world centering down to the black ink on the two passports, realizing for the first time that they shared a last name.

  
“Brothers.” It flopped out rather dumbly onto the table. A plain word, ugly really. He’d never had a brother; once he had thought Jack could be like a brother, but no. In his mind it had sounded much more…well, it had sounded much more. Brothers? Brothers! Brothers?! He couldn’t decide.

  
“Not necessarily.” Hannibal used that tone familiar to Will from before. Before Abigail’s death, the first one, the fake one. And so, he supposed, before her real death too. When had he started measuring time in his surrogate daughter’s deaths? Hannibal was testing the waters, checking and noting Will’s reaction rather than making a true offering based on his own wants. Will did not want Hannibal acting out of an intrigue in Will’s reactions, but before Will could form an answer Charlie cut in—

  
“What? Do you mean husbands, Henry? With Wesley?” Will had a feeling he had picked out that awful name on purpose, but he wasn’t watching Charlie, he was watching Hannibal whose shoulders made the most minuscule up and down moment that Will supposed counted as a shrug.

  
“Why not? Wes?” The crackle of bacon hardly had to fill a lull as Will’s mouth retorted before his brain could process the strict and unamused,

  
“Why not.”

  
Three months later and Hannibal still did not treat him like a husband. It was Hannibal who found the house in France, it was Hannibal who decorated it, it was Hannibal who assigned Will the guest bedroom with the window overlooking the lake, and it was Hannibal who kept a steady distance from Will in the evenings and often disappeared to his bedroom only an hour after dinner. It was Hannibal, then, whose eyebrows quirked slightly before he rose and took silent but heavy steps toward Will. There had been times when Will had wanted to kiss Hannibal, before and after the fall, but since their “swim” (as Hannibal referred to it casually) the doctor had made a rather strict point of keeping his distance and making those moments fall into longer time spans apart. Then, however, was certainly one of those moments when Will Graham wanted to kiss Hannibal Lecter.

  
Hair free of product, chest free of shirt, eyes free of that shield that he had solidly been carrying for half of a year—it was the Hannibal from the top of the cliff again with wide blown eyes and pursed lips who stood before him. Heat radiated between them, practically vibrating as they stood nearly toe-to-toe. Speckles of cherry were visible in Hannibal’s irises and the image of cherries being boiled in a pot of blood floated to mind, the irony bubbles gurgling and popping as the cherries bobbed and spun. Will thought he could practically smell the raw iron of humanity in the pot before he realized he was smelling Hannibal. It made his knees weak, it had been so long since they had been so close. If Hannibal moved any closer, Will was certain he would be able to feel the goosebumps at that point. The first boat had left them in close quarters but the need to take shifts in sailing had seldom kept them in the same room for very long, much to Will’s chagrin. Hannibal leaned in and Will’s bottom lip puckered of its own accord, an extended arm coolly moved past him and then suddenly Hannibal was stepping back and offering his heavy blue robe to Will with the shield firmly back in place. Will accepted the clothes before his brain had caught up with the route change.

  
“My dear boy,” Oh how Will ached at those words, he was ashamed at the dull throb his cock gave at the term of endearment, “you’ll catch a cold with your bare feet on the wood. Get some sleep.”

A large hand and long fingers were at his back, leading him out to the hall with his thin smile and the wish of sweet dreams. Will knew it was an act, though he had to assure himself of it (because it was so easy to believe that Hannibal would be willing to bring that cool nature between them) with the reminders that if Hannibal didn’t want him there he would have been eaten, as well as the fact of Hannibal’s undying curiosity. If Hannibal was not curious about Will in more intimate terms than that of a friend, he would have certainly asked why Will was standing nearly naked in his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him and the robe was stiflingly hot, a sweat picked up at the back of his neck. Will was back where he started, the shield was firmly reinstated, but it had fallen. Will had managed to bring it tumbling down as Hannibal stalked toward his figure, and he had every intention of bringing it down again—for good.


	2. Then We're Agreed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no escaping breakfast the morning after Will's painfully awkward occurrence in Hannibal's bedroom.

Will had not grown up in a home where regular meals with everyone gathered around the table were a habit, or a tradition. That was the positive word for habit, wasn’t it? Tradition was steeped in connotations of love, pride, joy…habit meant what? Habit meant it was something you trained yourself to do. Before Hannibal, eating was a habit for Will Graham. When he met Hannibal it turned into a luxury and then after (after what he was not sure, not even he could peg down when exactly things started to change—when everything changed) food became a tradition. Finding cheap gas station meals made up of stale hot dog buns and plastic cakes in his shitty, freezing car was a habit he would have been happy to forget, like much of his childhood. Though it had drastically changed since Hannibal’s entrance into his life, eating was still no hobby for Will like it was for his companion, but waking early to the smell of steaming coffee and trudging down to sit in their airily lit kitchen was not a tradition Will could complain about. Though the morning after Hannibal had ushered Will away from his room in a thick robe with a faux-oblivious gaze and a fatherly pat on the back, Will wished very much to skimp on the morning tradition they had established.

He woke with the acidic taste of rejection in his mouth that gave his gut that horribly wobbly feeling that brought him back to his first year of lecturing, sitting in his office with liquid panic slicking his hair to his forehead and standing in front of his podium with crumpled tissues dampened by palm sweat obscuring his notecards. If he avoided breakfast there would be no misconstruing why he had entered Hannibal’s room late in the night wearing only underwear, not that there was any denying that it was a sexual advance in the first place but Hannibal was leading him in a world of pretend. They pretended they were innocent, pretended they were married, pretended they didn’t want more from each other. Will had attempted to stop pretending, he’d stripped himself of his costume and asked Hannibal to ground him in reality, but he had been denied. Chapped bottom lip growing steadily drier between his teeth, Will rolled to his side to read the clock on the bedside table. 6:57. In three minutes it would be expected for him to be in his pajamas at the island in the kitchen eagerly awaiting coffee, so he would be.

The wood was cool beneath his feet as he gingerly slipped on his worn sweatpants, a grey shirt, and wool scarf. He hesitated momentarily with his fingers pressed against the plush of the navy robe hanging over the desk chair. His closet had greatly expanded since they’d “married.” Any argument he made was mute with Hannibal’s simplified justification of the copious amount of clothes that seemed to appear in Will’s closet, “We are married, William, I won’t have my husband leaving the house looking as if he’s wandered out of a soup kitchen. No sensible husband would.” That explanation, of course, had sparked an argument that lasted a grand forty-five minutes and ended with Hannibal dramatically placing his hands on the table in concession, “William, they are gifts. I don’t recall myself ordering you to wear anything. By all means, do as you please.” Since then, Will had made a point of dressing as he pleased and then adding an accessory to accommodate Hannibal’s taste; not that he necessarily had an issue with Hannibal’s taste, he would even admit to liking the clothes if the conversation arose again, but it was a matter of grounding himself that he couldn’t explain. If he was deprived of a touch that would help him stay centered in himself, if he was to be coldly shut out from the one man who had made him feel like him, then by all means he was going to continue dressing as if he had no one to keep him grounded. “Don’t make a home in another person’s heart, you never know when they’ll lose the capacity to have one,” Molly had told Walter once in front of Will, he’d felt his world stutter to a stop as she nonchalantly went back to the plain spaghetti she’d prepared.

“Good morning, Will. How are you feeling?” Hannibal’s back was to him as Will dragged himself from his thoughts and sat at the stool with blue ceramic mug in front of it. Will had picked out the mugs as a sort of house warming gift for Hannibal and brought them home with the nervousness he used to only reserve for conversations with Alana. Hannibal had pulled one mug out with a studious gaze before giving a tight lipped smile and murmuring which cabinet they belonged in. 

“Fine, thanks. What’re you making?” Hannibal turned and his eyes kept the barrier in place, directly behind the familiar examining gaze of his doctor. Even with the frustration of him closing Will out clouding Will's opinion of the taller man, he could not deny that Hannibal was a sight worth seeing. Perhaps, Will thought with the iron-taste of chapped lip in his mouth, if they kept the conversation normal then things could continue on their regular path and he could find a new way of asking Hannibal for confirmation that their lives were more than the superficial exterior they had created as a way of remaining incognito. 

“Apricot crepes and eggs, I imagine you’re hungry after your bout of exercise last night.” The world snapped into a vivid new version of reality and Will nearly dropped the mug.

“My…exercise?”

“You were sleep walking, again William, I thought you would remember... I found you standing in my bedroom shivering at about one in the morning—do you not remember?” Hannibal leaned against the counter, the jar of jam he had pulled from the fridge forgotten as he stared intently at Will. His teeth grit and he wondered if the twitch in Hannibal’s jaw was from the grating sound or the sudden change of energy in the room.

“I wasn’t sleepwalking, you know that.”

“What were you doing then, Will?” The steadiness of his voice infuriated Will, sent him jumping to his feet and slapping his palms on the marble counter with a resonating thwack.

“You know what I was doing!” A split in his consciousness brought him quickly back to Jack Crawford yelling in the men’s bathroom, crimson water under a cold sink, the twist and screech of rubber soles on linoleum flooring. Then he focused on Hannibal, on the small tug at the side of his mouth that barely hinted at a smile.

“Tell me what you think you were doing, Will.” The fucker was amused by his outburst, Will seethed.

“Your crepes are burning.” Hardly glancing away, Hannibal flicked his wrist and the crepes slid onto their respective plates before returning to his pensive, leaning stance across from Will.

“Tell me what you think you were doing.” It was a challenge then, hardly disguised as one of their faux-therapy sessions that Hannibal enjoyed randomly dusting into their conversations. Their silences could never be defined as “lulls in conversation.” Their silences were filled, intensely, constantly, with the silent energy of their perspective thoughts. 

“Stop shutting me out, Hannibal. Don’t play games with me, you know I wasn’t sleepwalking!” His breath was taut, carefully measured as his throat constricted and he heard himself yell out, “We’re supposed to be married!” His voice echoed in the white kitchen and he found himself burning his tongue as he attempted to guzzle down more coffee, in a grounding exercise to occupy his hands. It’s the first time he’s said the sentence out loud. It sounds weird in his voice; like rain splashing the mud out of puddles, the reality of the sentence is there but washed away easily by the façade Hannibal has crafted for them.

“Not legally.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize the law suddenly held much precedence over you.” Fury and tension bubbled again in Will’s skin as the conversation sliced open a cathartic vein in him and he suddenly found himself able to categorize his feelings. That open door roped forward the realization that he felt like he did all those years ago, sometime before he was released from his holding cell when he could feel the itchy, uncomfortable presence of Hannibal in his mind and the vague, dull thudding that was the lack of his own voice.

“Don’t be petty, William, not when intelligence fits you so neatly.” There was no doubt in Will’s mind that he was being antagonized but the sensation of his tongue being cut out and presented to him on a silver platter brought his hand swiping sideways and the coffee mug cascading to shatter against the white of the kitchen tile. Blue ceramic bled brown blood and Hannibal’s concentrated gaze remained there for a long, withheld beat before turning back to a breathless Will.

“Do you feel better?” Hannibal’s question had Will running his coarse hands over his face and pushing down all memories that this argument brought to the surface, of how many times he wanted to scream that question in Hannibal’s face when he couldn’t, the feel of Abigail’s hot blood spraying over him and fogging his glasses. Viciously, he reached out across the counter and grabbed Hannibal’s fingers. It was a desperate, painful clutch and he was momentarily shocked by how willingly the elegant digits moved away from the marble counter and into his frantic, trembling grasp. He felt shaken, barely stable with the unreliable life float bobbing in front of him, hardly in his grasp.

“The cup isn’t putting itself back together, Hannibal. We are free from whatever you’re worried about; I’m sick of your sulking. We’re married. Now, you can start acting like it or live in denial—that’s your prerogative, but you will not convince me that I’m crazy because you can’t handle the reality you’ve crafted for yourself.” Any other day he would have stomped away, but the veil being lifted from his companion’s eyes froze Will to the spot. The veil swirled away like milk in tea and left a much more human Hannibal staring at a quivering Will, forehead slick with a sheen of sweat and the veins in his arms protruding with the failed effort of restraint.

“I didn’t realize you wanted this marriage, Will. I would hate for you to feel obligated to anything.” It was a half-truth, Will knew, but one that he would accept over the whole-lie he had been receiving previously. But then there was an admittance from his side, of wanting their marriage, if he did not refute his husband’s words.

“You should know me well enough by now to know that I’m not accustomed to acting under obligation.” There, he had admitted it, a part of him had been accepting for the cliché weight to be lifted off his chest. If that had occurred, it only left him feeling as if he would float away in uncertainty, his knees had turned to jelly. 

“Have you ever married out of a sense of obligation before?” Their hands were still entwined, Will’s cool fingers clutching Hannibal’s white ones savagely. 

“I loved Molly.”

“I see.” It was then that he removed himself from Will’s grip and took a moment to straighten the apron at his waist. “Well, William, as you can imagine I have no qualms with treating this like a real marriage if that is your wish.”

“Good.” He felt himself nodding curtly, struggling to breathe again, his lungs shrunken and fileted in his aching ribs.

“Good, then we’re agreed: a real marriage, no secrets, no ambiguity—complete openness and honesty.” There was a crack as an egg was opened on the frying pan followed by the pop of the jam jar opening in preparation for the crepes. 

“You make wedding vows sound like a threat.” Will’s chuckle was strained, throat dry as Hannibal glanced up from his preparation with the toothy smile and admiring stare that Will had missed, longed for, agonized over for the past few ugly months. The kitchen felt too small suddenly, as if Hannibal had chosen to expand his presence and allow his charisma to fill the white room, barely leaving room for Will’s quieting breaths. He was lightheaded at the picturesque sight that Hannibal, his husband, made standing over their crackling breakfast. 

“You’re not sure that they aren’t.” If Will had blinked he would have missed the wink, he wished he hadn’t broken the mug out of a sudden need to occupy his hands.

“I’ll go get the broom.” It was meant to be a confirmation of their peace but it came out as a frigid attempt at evading any intimacy in their conversation.

“Excellent.” Will turned his back on the painfully poignant image of Hannibal spreading the jam knife over the blonde crepes. “After breakfast I’ll help you move your things into our bedroom.” 

Shaky fingers fumbled with the door knob leading to the storage closet and Will could have sworn he heard Hannibal’s light chuckle from the kitchen. A real marriage it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well next chapter Will and Hannibal will share a bedroom, we shall see where that leads them! Thank you for reading and sharing your kind thoughts and encouragement!


	3. Alright?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They share a bed and...this chapter becomes very adult.

Back on the ship when their wounds were still healing, where the blanket of stars above them were startling bright and the sea wind whipped their hair and kissed their necks, Will spent hours pretending that he wasn’t watching Hannibal rediscover the world. He’d sit for hours leaning against the side of the boat, pocket knife flicking open and closed in his palm as he watched Hannibal’s eyes flutter shut at the feel of the ocean spray misting across his skin, and struggling to pretend that he was not moved by the vision—he doubted Hannibal believed this act, there was no way Hannibal missed his skirting glances nor his clenching fists and flushed cheeks, but that was the fun of their relationship, the fall had baptized them in a freer sense of humor than when they had been grounded on the shore. When Hannibal took his night watch Will would curl into their single pillow, pressed against the thick cotton, and imagine what Hannibal felt cradled by the slow rock of the boat. The doctor’s senses had been advanced before his long incarceration, but going three years with little stimulation could only have left him dramatically sensitive and hyperactive. Hannibal’s scent would linger on the pillow and often helped relax Will into sleep, would center him when he woke to the rocking boat and had rash thoughts of hoping Molly hadn’t fallen asleep with the doors unlocked.

It had rained heavily once, a few nights before Hannibal brought them to Charlie, and Will burst from his dream with a broken gasp, heart pounding and glistening in sweat from the remnants of the worst dream he had since before Molly, but he was unable to recall what exactly the dream had been. It was like rising from the ocean, itself; he still dripped antlers, Abigail, Alana… but found that he now wished he could let them fall back with the rest of the world to leave him free on the boat with Hannibal. When the storm had made itself prevalent Will stomped up to the deck to find Hannibal standing victoriously at the helm, wind beating his hair to the side and rain sewing his clothes to his devastatingly thin form. Determined eyes slid from the cracking whitecaps to Will’s freshly drenched figure and a smile fell into place as he tilted his head in a way of beckoning him over. Boots sliding against the deck and hands slipping for purchase against the metal rail, Will’s ears were deaf to all under the sound of his pounding heart. A large, hot hand tenderly held the back of his neck and Hannibal pulled him against the side of his chest, tilting his head forward to bellow,

“Go back to bed! I have you— we are safe!” The roar sounded like a hoarse whisper, an underscore to the slap of rain against the wooden deck and the screaming of the wind against the violent ocean. Will thought then that if they died, it would be ok, they were free.

“Is it rude of me to ask what my husband is thinking about?” There was a humor in Hannibal’s voice that Will hadn’t realized he had missed hearing, it had been there on the boat, but he wasn’t sure when it disappeared—he’d certainly never heard it in their house before. Hannibal entered among the steam of his shower which carried the rich, clean smell of his ridiculously priced shampoo to Will’s spot on the bed. The yellow light of the bathroom warmed the spacious room and shined against Hannibal’s damp, cut biceps.

“I was thinking about that storm on the boat…how sure you were that we were safe.” A pause in Hannibal’s steps usually worried Will, but this time he leaned against the plump, down pillows and appreciated Hannibal’s habit of contemplating and digesting every word. Their old easiness fell between them even though their roles had been reversed, again. While Will had been so sure of needing their marriage to mean something, yet it was Hannibal then who was comfortable walking around in nothing but his tight briefs while Will clutched the midnight blue covers to his chest.

“I was sure that there was more to our story. I was right. Do you need the restroom?” Will had already showered and pulled his maroon briefs on with shaking hands, it didn’t seem they had stopped shaking since.

“I’m ok, thanks.” Will was left alone for a brief moment before the light dissipated and he was left to listen to the gentle slap of Hannibal’s bare feet against the wood, then the rustling of the thick covers, before he felt Hannibal’s heated figure join him in between the sheets. The smell of Hannibal’s expensive soaps overwhelmed him in the blackness as he remained stoic, allowing himself a brief second to adjust to the sensation of Hannibal’s still-damp form stretching in the bed.

“Anything wrong, Will?” His voice was as soft as his breath on Will’s shoulder, making the ex-special agent jump at the sudden proximity, he hadn’t realized just how close they were.

“No.” The question had sounded like a genuine concern, not a challenge, but Will still took the hint to move. Sinking deeper into the mattress he rolled on his side, facing Hannibal but blind to his bedmate, he briefly wondered if he was facing Hannibal’s mouth or shoulders, possibly even his back. The aroma of his clean soap and the overwhelming blackness of the night had nearly hallucinogenic effects on Will’s mind, he could be anywhere. Was it the heat and darkness and rich scents that aroused his senses so intensely, Will deliberated, or the knowledge that Hannibal was not only so near but content? An awry, over tired part of his brain wandered to whether or not Hannibal considered this their wedding night. He certainly felt like he imagined a bride would feel in bed with her older, worldlier husband for the first time. It would make sense, he mused, if they had had an arranged marriage and Hannibal was lonely and wanting but too polite to press for more than Will’s presence beside him in bed—though that truly was not far from reality. A roaming hand making contact with Will’s cheek yanked him from his thoughts and ripped a clicking gasp from his chest. At least, Will comforted himself, he now knew that they were face-to-face rather than awkwardly face-to-back. The thought of spooning Hannibal made him shutter slightly and Hannibal’s restrained chuckle alerted Will that every move he made would be felt and memorized.

“I apologize,” The amusement that made Will’s heart swell to aching proportions was prominent in the shroud of darkness, “I was curious to see how much distance swims between us.” In another lifetime Will was certain Hannibal had associated with the likes of Lord Byron. For that moment, however, Will tried to focus on keeping his breathing at a normal pace and not allowing Hannibal to hear the effect that the gentle touch of his smooth palm against Will’s sensitive akin had on him.

“Not much, apparently.” It was a breathy whisper that he liked to imagine Hannibal could taste. His stomach rolled pleasurably at the thought of Hannibal laying beside him with an open mouth, desperate to taste whatever the younger man would give him.

“No.” Hannibal agreed in a way that would have closed the conversation had it been anyone else speaking, but Hannibal seemed instead to be inviting a dialogue between them. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Will wanted to believe he could feel the ghostly stirrings of Hannibal’s thighs against his own. It surprised him that Hannibal was so comfortable with their physicality, although he knew it shouldn’t as he had never met a man more confident than Hannibal Lecter. Only twenty-four hours ago Hannibal had ushered him out of that very bedroom, but Will could no longer blame him for that act of self-preservation. Hannibal slipped so easily into their new relationship that was blanketed in tense overtones that could not be denied as being deeply sexual and deeply repressed. For Hannibal to relax into their sudden closeness so easily, Will could only assume the feelings behind their closeness were not new. That thought relaxed him and he found himself enjoying the drifting, forbidden sensation of pleasure which filled him at the feeling of Hannibal’s thigh brushing against his own as the man shifted slightly closer.

“Hannibal?”

“Hm?” Contentment, relaxation, bliss.

“You told me, a while back, that we were family. Is this what you had in mind?” A slow breath was released beside him, it tickled his ear and fanned his hair. A slow shiver rolled down his spine as the scent of peppermint burned a fire deep in his gut.

“Could I have predicted that we would move to France and pretend to be married…? No, Will, I could not have predicted that. Did I mean it romantically? Well,” A pregnant pause raised the hair on Will’s arms, “my feelings for you have never been anything short of intimate.”

Time passed in long rolls, the silence between them comfortable. Will could not tell whether or not he was submerging in and out of dreams or if the warm dark had dipped him into a state of hypnosis where his mind was wiped blank. At some point he heard himself make a statement that had had no forethought behind it.

“I’m cold.” It was a lie and he wasn’t sure of his own motives for saying it, but once it was out there and sinking in the space between them he could do nothing but wait with baited breath for a response. The silence that met his announcement nearly calmed him, he thought Hannibal had already drifted to sleep.

“Would you like me to fetch you the blanket from our guest room?” Will was no longer sure whether his eyes were open or closed, or where Hannibal was in relation to him, he was surrounded by sensation.

“No.” It was upon his own response that Will realized he had just invited Hannibal Lecter to move closer, touch longer, be more.

In complete silence, hidden in the dark of night, Will felt all of the curiosity, awe, and appreciation he felt for Hannibal twist into something much deeper than he had ever felt. It was as if a hand had reached into the garden of his heart and found the roots; there was no space for denial anymore, he felt romantically inclined toward Hannibal. Not only romantically, he accepted as he awaited the man’s response, but sexually. He awaited the response to his invitation not with fear or anxiety or nervousness—but excitement, he was waiting eagerly for Hannibal to decide then what sort of marriage this would be.

The sound of skin shifting against sheets had his heart hammering in his chest before a long arm closed around his chest. A ragged puff of air left his chest as the sharp chin of his husband rested against his shoulder and the heat of his hairy chest warmed Will’s back. They remained completely still as Will attempted to stamp down a blush and Hannibal seemed to allow him time to adjust, aware of how sensitive Will was to physical touch. Will’s eyes clenched shut of their own accord and he was forced to remind himself of how very real the situation was as he listened to their harmonizing breaths. He would not, he decided, admit that he had dreamed of their laying in that very position when he had cradled Molly at night. Finally, Will lifted his own hand off the mattress to hug the arm that rested heavily across his chest. In response, Hannibal entwined their legs and Will stiffened, again, in surprise. Hannibal’s heavy, hot, thick reaction to their intimate position was undeniable and pressed against Will’s ass.

“Should I move to the guest room?” Hannibal’s panting brought Will back to the night of the Red Dragon and felt himself hardening at the overwhelming assault to his senses.

“Why would you?” He sounded as if he’d spent the last three months in the desert, not wrapped in Hannibal’s fluffy blanket with posh brandy in his hand.

“My feelings toward you can no longer be denied or concealed, William. However, I would never play the fool and assume you felt the same way, without you indicating otherwise.” Hannibal was asking for openness and honesty, Will knew. There were no words for what he felt for the man behind him, spooning him, brushing his lips against his earlobe, accepting him while knowing the full range of his dark soul. His fingers felt frozen as he wound them through Hannibal’s much longer, thinner ones. Hannibal, ever the gentleman, remained completely still as Will guided their entwined fingers to skim across his chest, down the fuzz of his belly, to the hot hardness between his legs.

“How long, Will?” The question was complicated: How long had Will been attracted to Hannibal or how long had he denied that he was attracted to Hannibal? Or how long had he been laying in the dark beside his husband, harder than he’d been since the first time he’d walked out of Hannibal’s office?

“Too long.” Seemed to cover all of the bases and elicited an overcome exhale of appreciation from the man behind him who pressed himself impossibly closer. Shaking to his core, Will failed to contain his groan as Hannibal stretched his hand and effectively shook his guidance away before gripping his cock with a reverent sigh. Will was anchored to the swelling feeling of Hannibal palming him through the thin cotton and shuttered at the wet suction that started below his earlobe as Hannibal’s hand slipped beneath the elastic and began pumping him in earnest.

“ _Hannibal_ , Hannib-”

“Hush, dear boy, let me take care of you.” He couldn’t help but cry out even louder, even more depraved, at those words combined with the tongue that delved across the shell of his ear. Fire seemed to have caught both in his face and in his cock as he wriggled back, trapped between the strong chest and the torturing fingers. Hannibal gave him a particularly dangerous squeeze and he thrust forward,

“Please!” The trembling should have embarrassed him as it raked his entire body and burned his eyes with the threat of tears, but the knowledge that it only provoked Hannibal further had him dramatizing the shakes for the benefit of them both.

“Slow, Will, slow…” The strokes trailed to a slow pace before they stopped and Will wriggled onto his back, throbbing and pulsing and miserably aroused with the knowledge that he had not yet kissed his husband on the mouth, but had felt his talented fingers tugging at his dick.

“Kiss me, please, please kiss me.” The hope of using his appendages had been lost from Hannibal’s first touch, Will’s limbs had turned to jelly. His hips thrust into the air of their own accord as Hannibal was suddenly upon him, leaning against his chest and sliding his long fingers into his hair. Will’s heart throbbed, feeling as if it had expanded to three times its normal size with the realization that it was finally happening—he hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting for it, desperately at that. The feeling of Hannibal’s soft palms thrust him back to the social worker in the horse, the seizure in the dining room, the iron blood on the cliff—and then his hair was being tugged back and his mouth fell open with a gasp as Hannibal’s tongue slowly thrust into his mouth. The heat was incredible and seemed to be burning him from the inside out. At first they battled for control but Will quickly allowed himself to submit to Hannibal’s wants, he trusted his husband, wanted his husband to give him what he wanted to give. The doctor was grinding his own arousal against Will’s leg as the kiss became the sole purpose for his existence, the need to come up for air was cursed as he allowed the doctor to define his sense of self with each teasing lick of his tongue.

“Oh, _dear Will_ , what a gift you are…” He keened at the compliment and felt his arms come back to life as they reached down to grip the sculpted ass of his husband—the hot tongue was back plumbing his mouth— his husband—there were fingers tracing his ribs—his  husband—he was so close to finishing, just from the tension building and climbing—his husband—“fuck” was whispered in that devastatingly low accent and Will ground up as hard as he could, rocking and squeezing—in need of more,

“More!” Hannibal’s chuckle brought fire to his veins and tears to his eyes. Then multiple things happened at once that Will took in with a deep gasp of pleasure. The muscles in his arms burned as Hannibal took his wrists in one hand and shoved them above his head, the elastic of his briefs snapped around his upper thighs as he was exposed, and the long slide of Hannibal’s cock against his own sent him hurtling toward orgasm.

“I’m gonna—shit, I’m close…” Whether the words were for his own sake or his lover’s, he did not know, he barely knew that anything comprehensible was leaving his lips as the slick slide filled his ears and curled his fingers into the pillow. Hannbal’s fingers stroked them both, increasing the pressure and rhythm as Will struggled to thrust up into his palm. He was a smaller man and his hands were clutched up above his head and he wondered how many men Hannibal had done this with and-

“ _Fuck!_ ” Their pre-cum made it an easy slide, the skin against skin contact was overwhelming and he was cumming hard as Hannibal thrust his face into the curve of his neck and shoulder, gasping there man as tears flowed freely from Will’s eyes. Hannibal followed quickly after, painting their torsos with a ragged gasp and Will’s own name whispered like a prayer, shaking him to his core. His arms remained limp above his head as Hannibal rolled to the side, their cum spread across their stomachs and was damp on the sheets. The musky aroma of their sex would have hardened him again if he had any energy left within him; the sound of his own heart pulsating in his ears and burning the flush of his cheeks deafened him to his gasps as tears continued to leak slowly down his cheeks and into his hair. Roaming fingers found his and gave a firm squeeze, he did his best at reciprocating.

“Alright?” The question remained unanswered between them as Hannibal trailed his fingers down Will’s arm, chest, torso, to run his fingers through the wet, thick hair spread across his pelvic bone. Long fingers rested there, not combing but not remaining still, just existing in such a devastatingly possessive manner that Will felt his back arch at the dominant nature of it.

“Do you have any regrets?” The voice was as close to insecure as Will had ever heard Hannibal, it didn’t quite breach the arena of being worried but was rather raw with the need for Will to have enjoyed himself as much as Hannibal had. He took his time mulling over the question then tempting his exhausted tongue into forming English.

“Only that I couldn’t see you.”

“That,” Hannibal’s lips formed a grin pressed against the skin above his lover’s heart, “can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I'm not sure if there is any interest in my continuing this story, but I feel like this works as both as stopping place and a chapter break so yeah I'm undecided, as of now, if I want to take this one further. Thanks again to everyone who has already responded and left kudos on the story, you're very kind!


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short, little epilogue to wrap this all up! Some fluff to off-set the general tone of the fic, very very fluffy. Enjoy!

The kiss of sunlight across the bare skin of his chest and arms was the first greeting from the day that slipped Will out of his slumber. There was no confusion on whether Molly was out front with the dogs or Hannibal was at the helm of the boat or even if his dad had slept the night outside of the bar again and he was going to have to drive down and pick him up. No, it was the first memorable time in years that Will awoke with the clear knowledge of where he was, who he was, and what he had done in the dark hours between sunset and sunrise. Time always seemed to move slower in France than it did in America, to Will anyways, and in those few moments of collecting himself from his dreams that sentiment rang particularly true. From his spot on his side with his arm tucked under his head and the other splayed out across the white sunlit sheets he could see, as well as hear, the silver, vintage analog alarm clock shining at him as it tick, tick, ticked away. 6:42. They’d slept in. They. The word was sweet even in his mind. A warm draft of air was tickling his shoulders blades. It took him a full three minutes of appreciating the watery feeling of contentment to settle over him before he realized there was no draft in the room, just the soft breath of his husband against his back. Hoping to awaken Hannibal without having to look like he was awaiting Hannibal’s attention, Will yawned loudly before stretching out, reveling in the sweet burn of his muscles as he arched his shoulders and extended his arms above his head on the roll over to his back. Dark eyes met his when he finally let his head slide to the side, he had the ridiculous urge to ask Hannibal where their underwear had gone but was able to refrain when the softness behind those usually-so-secure eyes registered in his sleepy state.

“How are you?” They were past pleasantries, Will mused as his eyes fluttered uncontrollably at the gravelly tone of Hannibal’s morning voice.

“Good.” It sounded lame even to him. He wanted to explain that good was a vast improvement when he looked back at his life leading up to this point, but he settled for brevity.   
“How are you?” The pursing of the lips that had drove him to insanity hours before was a test of his willpower.

“Fantastic.”

“Do you want to talk about this?” Will asked as he ran his hands over his sleep-greased face. Blinking back the stars and designs that appeared from over-rubbing his eyes did not change the ethereal beauty lying beside him; the rays of light slid through the curtains and cast a spotlight on the cheekbones that were already shaped to cut.

“What is there to talk about? I am in love.” He seemed chuffed by this comment before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in such a look of intense thought that Will’s mind flittered to the scrolls of drawings and sketches Hannibal had done; he wondered if Hannibal had ever drawn a self-portrait, if he was aware how striking he was outside of the reactions he knew he garnered from those around him. “The one thing I feared cannot be belied…because of you.” A long sigh fell from his chapped lips and Will relished how rarely Hannibal broke eye contact; if he had not been so focused in that thick pause between them, he might have pondered his state of mind and their first meeting when he had desperately tried to hide his gaze behind the rims of his glasses.

“I do not expect you, Will, to return these feelings. I know my emotions run a deeper course than those around me-” Will’s laughter surprised them both. He turned his face to the mattress to release the bubbling barks that flew from his scratchy throat,

“My god, Hannibal. You’re superior even in love, then? Us mere mortals can’t feel love as deeply as you?” His laughter had obviously amused Hannibal, Will was further amused by this as he knew if any other human had laughed during Hannibal’s very-serious, dramatic exclamation of love they would have ended up as dinner. 

“I would never presume Will-”

“What? That I love you? That I would travel across the world for you? That I would kill for you?” Hannibal’s eyes relaxed. Will had to choke past the sudden dryness of his throat. 

“That I know that there is no stopping you from killing or letting you kill, there is only accepting you or walking away?”

“You could stop me.” This broke another smile from Will.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” It felt suddenly preposterous to think that Hannibal was under a delusion that Will’s feelings were anything but loving toward him. Had he somehow missed what Bedelia thought was so obvious? The bob of his neck was nearly audible, Hannibal’s throat too seemed constricted.

“I’ve considered it, at times.” 

“I hate so many things, Hannibal, but I never hated you. Christ, I wanted to, but I could never hate you.”

“That’s not love.” There was no mistaking that tears were gathering beneath long lashes. Will’s mind roamed idly to the knife in his gut, his first night on the cot in that cell, awakening from the water sputtering for air—but a stillness swept over him as he watched that first tear slip down Hannibal’s cheek and trail down to puddle in the sheet.

“What’s love then?” 

“I cannot put words to love but-”

“Me neither.” Will decided quickly, a grin breaking out across his boyish cheeks. Hannibal knew a lost fight when he encountered one.

“I thought, perhaps, that it would go unspoken between us for some time. Eventually we would come together naturally, I would not have to upset your lifestyle. We could live in peace here.” Will understood that reasoning, or at least wanted to understand that reasoning. They had changed each other so much, Will liked to believe these intentions were a part of his influence.

“That might have been nice, if you hadn’t refused peace. If you had let me come to you Hannibal, on my own time…” The sentence did not need to be finished, they both knew there may not have ever been a time if Will’s life had gone uninterrupted by Hannibal. “My life, before you, feels like a very long dream. It’s like I just woke up from a nap.” Again, he rubbed his face and scrunched his forehead, enjoying the feeling of his beards itching his palms.

“Some cultures believe that this life is a dream, when they die they will wake up in heaven. I have often imagined that their fantasy continues with a deity who offers them coffee.”

“Like you offer me every morning?” Hannibal only smiled, Will could not ascertain whether that thought had occurred to him before—if he had been making that damn coffee every morning with the plan laid to hold this conversation with him one morning, naked. The feeling of Hannibal’s palm cradling his head and thumb plumping his bottom lip was enough to shaken him, tighten his core, push the gravity from his head and the air out of his lungs. There were so many beautiful things in the world, but he could think of few greater than Hannibal Lecter’s lips upon his, so he kissed him. The response of a smile pressed against his own mouth was holy enough for him.

“Now that we are awake, what shall we do?” 

Hannibal’s eyes would always seem devastated, Will decided with a smirk as he mulled over his husband’s question, devastated by the fact that his love was no longer unrequited. There was no response that could satisfy Hannibal’s insatiable thirst for life, no human was capable of the passion his husband believed he sustained for Will. So Will kissed him and kissed him again and accepted that he only wished that a younger version of himself could see where he ended up, so he too could breathe a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first hannigram story is finished! I'm not thrilled with this last chapter but I have other hannigram au's in mind that I am excited to give my full attention to, I hope this little bit of fluff satisfied anyone with a sweet tooth out there.  
> Thanks to all who read, all who reviewed, and all who left kudos--it was very sweet of you to follow along!


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